DOWN THE RIVER.
Putting a boat about, as Fanny had turned the Greyhound, is nautically
termed _gybing_ her. It is a dangerous manoeuvre when the wind is
fresh, and should never be attempted by young or inexperienced boatmen.
By putting the boat about in the opposite direction, hauling in the
sheet as the sail flutters, the danger may be wholly avoided. The
boat's head should always be turned in the direction from which the
wind comes. But a person who does not understand the management of a
boat should no more attempt to handle one than an unskilful person
should attempt to run a steam engine.
Fanny Grant knew but little about a boat, and it was fortunate for her
and her companion in mischief that the wind was not strong enough to
carry the Greyhound wholly over. If she had careened only a little
more, she would have filled with water and sunk, for she was heavily
ballasted. As it was, she was half full of water, and the situation of
the young ladies, if not perilous, was very uncomfortable.
"O, Fanny!" screamed Kate, in mortal terror, as the Greyhound heeled
over, and the water rushed in over the washboard.
"Don't be scared," replied Fanny, with wonderful self-possession. "It's
all right, and there is no harm done."
"We shall be drowned!" gasped Kate.
"No, we shall not be drowned. Don't you see the boat stands up like a
major? Don't be frightened. I understand it all."
"No; you don't know anything about it. The boat is almost full of
water, and we shall sink to the bottom."
"I tell you she is doing very well. Pooh! that wasn't anything! She
often takes in the water like that."
"What shall we do?" moaned Kate.
This was a question which appealed even to Fanny's prudence. Without
answering in words, she let go the halliards, and hauled down the
foresail. After the boat came about, she had not righted the helm, and
the Greyhound had been thrown up into the wind as she heeled over and
took in the flood of water. She now lay with her sails flapping, and
Fanny cast off the main-sheet, rather to stop the fluttering than to
avoid further peril. Fortunately, this was the proper course to pursue.
"What shall we do?" repeated Kate, expecting every moment that the
treacherous sails would carry them over again, and that they would soon
find their way to the bottom of the river.
"Bale out the water," replied Fanny, taking a pail and a dipper from
the cuddy forward. "Now go to work, and we shall soon be ready to sail
again."
"I don't want to sail any more," whined Kate.
"Dip away as fast as ever you can. Don't stop to talk about it now."
Fanny took the pail herself, and gave the dipper to Kate, and both of
them went to work with a zeal which promised soon to free the Greyhound
from the burden under which she was laboring. There was a large
quantity of water in the boat, and the process of dipping it out was
very slow. Fanny was afraid that this accident would throw her into the
power of her great enemy, the constable; and this was the only fear
which troubled her. The perils of the mighty river had no terrors to
her while she had a plank under her feet.
Kate was utterly disconsolate and hopeless, and Fanny was obliged to
use all her ingenuity to keep her in working condition. To show her
confidence, she sang like a nightingale, as she dipped out the water;
and Fanny was an excellent singer. She labored hard to prove to her
desponding companion that there was no danger, and at last she
succeeded in restoring Kate to a tolerable degree of self-possession.
When about half the water had been dipped out, Fanny trimmed the sails,
and headed the boat down the river, to the utter consternation of her
timid associate, who was heartily sick of the adventure, and longed to
put her feet on the dry land again.
"Now, Kate, you take the pail, and I will use the dipper; I can work
and steer the boat at the same time," said Fanny, when the Greyhound
was under headway again.
"The boat is going down the river, Fanny!" exclaimed Kate, as she took
the pail.
"Of course she is," replied the bold skipper. "Where did you expect her
to go?"
"But you are not going any farther--are you?"
"To be sure I am. Do you think I am going to back out now?"
"We shall certainly be drowned!"
"Nonsense!"
"I don't want to go any farther," moaned Kate, who felt like one going
to execution.
"I can't help it if you don't. I'm going down to Pennville," answered
Fanny, still dipping up the water from the bottom of the boat.
"I won't bale out any more then," ejaculated Kate, as she dropped the
pail, and looked as though she actually meant what she said.
"Very well; then I won't," added Fanny, throwing down the dipper.
"If you will go back, I will bale out the water as hard as ever I can."
"But I will not go back," replied Fanny, firmly. "Do you think I am
going home to be shut up for a week, or sent back to my uncle, without
having any fun at all? If you won't bale, I won't. I guess I can stand
it as long as you can."
"Do go back, Fanny," begged Kate.
"I tell you I will not. You don't know what I am going to do yet."
"What?"
"I can't stop to talk about it now. If you don't take the pail and bale
out the boat, I will hoist the other sail."
"Don't, Fanny!"
"If you will keep still, and mind what I say, I won't hoist the sail.
We go along with only these two sails just as easy as anything can be,
and there isn't a bit of danger."
Kate, to avoid the greater evil, submitted to the less; and, as the
Greyhound, now going very steadily under her jib and mainsail,
continued on her course, she was soon freed from the water within her.
The boat went along so well that Kate gathered a little courage, and
ventured to hope that they might not be drowned, after all.
"You mustn't turn her round again, Fan," said she.
"What shall we do? We shall run ashore if I don't turn her."
"Can't we lower the sails when you turn her?"
"There is no need of that," replied Fanny, cheerfully. "I made a little
mistake before, but I understand all about it now."
"What was the mistake, Fan?"
"I didn't turn her the right way," replied the confident skipper, who
had been studying up the cause of the mishap and had reasoned out the
correct solution. "I shall know just how to do it next time, Kate, and
you needn't be the least grain scared. See here," said she, putting the
helm down, and bringing the boat round till her head was thrown up into
the wind.
"Don't, Fanny!"
"That's the way it is done," continued Fanny, proudly. "Don't you see
how easily she does it? There isn't a bit of danger now;" and she
brought the boat round to her course again.
Kate was terrified at the very mention of turning the boat; but when
she saw that the feat was accomplished without upsetting or even taking
in any more water, her confidence was in a great measure restored.
Fanny's exhibition of her skill produced the intended effect upon her
companion, and the feminine skipper's easy and self-reliant way
confirmed the impression. Fanny had learned more about the management
of a boat in that brief half hour than she had ever known before, for
the consciousness that her own life and that of her passenger depended
upon her skill, sharpened her perceptions and quickened her judgment to
such an extent that those moments of thrilling experience became
equivalent to months of plodding study when the mind is comparatively
dull and heavy.
Mr. Long, the constable, evidently did not hurry himself in the
investigation of Fanny's case; for when he had satisfied himself that
the wicked girl had deceived him, and had reached the Woodville pier,
having first visited the school, as the shrewd girl had intended he
should, the boat was not in sight; or, at least, nothing could be seen
of her but the white sails, which he could not identify, and the
fugitives were in no present danger on account of his movements. He did
not know whether the Greyhound had gone up or down the river; and he
had no boat in which to follow her.
Fanny felt that she had won a victory, for she did not realize that
success in a wicked cause is failure and defeat. She congratulated
herself on the feat she had accomplished, and she was vain enough to
boast to her associate of what she had done; of her skill in managing
the boat, and her shrewdness in planning the enterprise; and it is
quite certain that if she had been less resolute and courageous, the
expedition would have ended in failure almost at the beginning.
"But you haven't told me what you are going to do yet," said Kate, when
she had sponged out the bottom of the well, dried the seats in the
standing-room, and taken her place by the side of Fanny.
"I will tell you now," replied Fanny. "What do you suppose your father
will do to you when he finds out that you played truant, and went on
the river with me?" she added, apparently, but not really, avoiding the
subject.
"He'll kill me!" answered Kate, with emphasis.
"No, he won't."
"I don't know what he will do, then."
"He will punish you in some way--won't he?"
"Yes. I don't know what he will do."
"Well, Kate, we must bring him to terms," added Fanny, with the most
impudent assurance. "If you will mind what I say, he will not punish
you at all. Will you do it?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know! Do you want to go back and be whipped like a baby, be
shut up for a week, or something of that kind?"
"Of course I don't."
"And I will tell you how to get rid of all these things, and make your
father as glad to see you as though you had been a good little girl all
your life, and had been away on a long journey."
"How?"
"That's telling!"
"You said you would tell me."
"And so I will, if you are strong enough to bear it."
"Well, I am."
"Don't go home for a week or ten days. Your folks won't know where you
are. When they find out you went with me in a boat, they will think you
are drowned; and when you go back, they will be so glad to see you that
they won't say a word."
It would have been impossible for a girl who had been brought up by a
loving mother to conceive of such a cold-blooded and diabolical
proposition. Fanny had no mother, no father. Even the remembrance of
the former had passed from her mind; and her father, while he was
living, had been away from her so much that she hardly knew him as a
parent. Her antecedents, therefore, did not qualify her to comprehend
the loathsome enormity of the course she proposed to her companion.
"I can't stay away from home a week, let alone ten days," replied Kate,
who, bad as she was, was shocked at the proposition.
"Yes, you can."
"Where shall I stay?"
"Stay with me."
"Where will you stay?"
"We will go down to New York city."
"To New York city!"
"That's where I intend to go," replied Fanny, coolly.
"You don't mean so, Fan?"
"Yes, I do; and I have meant it all the time."
"But you said we were going to Pennville."
"We are; and when we get there we will take the cars for New York city.
We shall be there before twelve o'clock."
"But what shall we do when we get there?" demanded Kate, who was
absolutely appalled at the magnitude of Fanny's scheme.
"We will have a good time, in the first place. There are plenty of
shops where we can get cakes, and candy, and ice-cream; we can go to
the museum, the theatre, and the circus; we can go to Central Park, and
all the fine places in the city."
"But where should we live?"
"There are hotels enough."
"What should we do at a hotel? Besides, it would take lots of money."
"I've got money enough."
"Five dollars wouldn't pay for our living a week. They ask three or
four dollars a day for living at a hotel."
"I've got more than five dollars," answered Fanny, rather cautiously.
"Have you? How much have you got?"
"I don't know exactly."
"You don't know!" repeated Kate, very confident now in regard to the
means by which the money had been obtained, which, with this added
revelation regarding the amount, she did not believe had been found on
the floor. "You don't know!"
"I haven't counted it."
"Fan, you didn't find that money on the floor!" exclaimed she.
"I found it, anyhow," said Fanny, turning her head away from her
companion.
"Where did you find it?"
"In the drawer, if you must know," replied Fanny, desperately.